


lmao keith

by hiuythn



Series: klanceweek 2018 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiuythn/pseuds/hiuythn
Summary: Keith has a secret.





	lmao keith

**Author's Note:**

> klanceweek day 3 prompt: blushing

Keith has a secret.

It’s not—don’t look at him like that, it’s not a _weird_ secret. To be honest, it’s not even _his_ secret, it’s someone else’s that he stumbled on one day. And now he’s just…keeping a secret by proxy without the other knowing.

The secret is this: Lance likes to sing.

He sings _._ He’s a _singer._ He can _sing._

But he never does it around anyone, as far as Keith knows. Not even Hunk.

The first time Keith heard Lance sing, it was at four am—or what passes as four am in the castle—and he was skulking back from his nightly kitchen raid. The hallway was dimmed, but still he squinted against what little light came off the panels of the walls, dragging his red lion slippers on the floor. He was halfway to falling asleep on his feet, so when the singing started to filter through his ears, Keith didn’t really register it until he nearly walked face-first into the bulkhead.

But man, when he focused on the voice drifting down the hallway…well. He still wasn’t sure if he was awake or not.

Whoever was singing had the sort of voice that silenced your mind. Smooth and clear and light, it so effortlessly climbed up and down the octaves. Powerful, but in a way that was almost _sweet_. Keith struggled for days after to pin down just exactly what he liked so much about it, why it settled in his head like a warm blanket and laid every whirling subconscious thought to rest. But at that time, all he could do was stand there like an idiot and stare blankly into the darkness, like he was hypnotized, which wouldn’t be far off the mark to say, actually. Not that he would say it, because that’d be lame and embarrassing.

He didn’t know how long he stood there for, but it wasn’t until the voice got dangerously closer that Keith was able to shake off the lethargy just in time to scramble around the corner. He couldn’t resist peeking out from behind it, though, and to this day, he’s incredibly proud that he didn’t gasp at the sight of _Lance_ just casually _singing_ as he walked, hands in his robe pockets, as if the vibrato in his voice wouldn’t put professional singers to shame.

Keith’s even more proud that he managed to wait until Lance disappeared into the darkness, to finally let himself slide down the wall, knees weak.

Look, it’s not like he hasn’t heard good singing before—he has. And he knows Lance isn’t like, the best of the best, or the undisputed top vocalist, or whatever. It’s just—Lance is always so…shrill, around Keith, and it’s probably because they annoy each other like no one’s business, but he didn’t know Lance could sound like _that._

He kind of wanted to hear it again.

So for the past, oh, four weeks—shut up, it’s not that long—he’s been hovering around Lance and hiding in his general vicinity—it isn’t stalking, it _isn’t_ —in the hopes that he might hear Lance sing.

…Yeah, okay, so it’s a little weird.

But he’s caught Lance at it like eight times, so whatever, he wins.

And anyway, if he’s lucky, this’ll be the ninth.

This is the situation: Keith’s in the showers. The room’s empty; no one else is in the other stalls. He turns on the showerhead and almost steps into the spray when he realizes that he forgot his shampoo in his locker. As he jogs over to grab it, he hears the door slide open on the far end of the room. Startled, he ducks out of sight, but keeps an eye on the door.

It’s Lance.

He steps into the room, whistling loud enough that he might as well be humming. Now, upon hearing water hissing through the pipes and hitting the tiles, Lance logically says, “Anyone in here?”

And Keith, not-so-logically, says nothing. Instead, he backs up slowly until he’s crouched behind the last row of lockers, farthest from the showers. No, don’t ask him why his first instinct is to hide, because he doesn’t have an answer, okay, he was just—surprised. He’s wearing nothing but a towel, excuse him if he didn’t want to be seen.

“Weird,” says Lance. There’s the sound of a handle turning, and the water stops falling. The room is eerily quiet.

After about five minutes of shuffling and various noises of things being moved around and set down, Keith hears the squeak of Lance’s shower slippers slapping on the tiles. A swish of the curtain being drawn, the clank of the handle again, and the pipes hum inside the walls.

At this point, Keith’s debating about whether he should sit through Lance’s legendarily long shower routine, or if he should just sprint back to his room and risk Pidge showing Shiro the camera footage—okay nevermind, that’s not even a question, he’s definitely waiting. Shiro has enough blackmail material already.

He’s shifting around to find the least uncomfortable way to crouch, when Lance starts to sing.

 _Okay,_ Keith thinks. _Okay, maybe this whole situation isn’t so bad._

It’s not a song he recognizes, but it’s still _nice_ and he has to pinch himself when he notices that he’s grinning slightly. He scowls, hunching further over his knees. He can listen but he can’t smile, because that would feel like he lost to Lance or something—look, it just makes sense to him, alright?

The showers are pretty loud, he notices. He can barely hear Lance over the noise. Has the castle always had water pressure this strong?

He shifts around, and the tile makes sticky _squick squick_ sounds under his heels.

“My feet are cold,” he mutters. “I should—I’m gonna go sit on the bench. Because the floor is cold.”

He does just that, settling on the bench with his legs crossed under him. That’s better, he can kind of make out some words Lance could be saying—he means, his feet aren’t cold anymore, that’s—this is about his feet, not—not about Lance.

Ten minutes pass with him just sitting there, and like…there’s a voice in his head that’s going, _Keith, this is kind of lame, you know?_ and Keith just thinks, _shut up Shiro, get out of my head_ , but it’s all fine, because Lance is starting to really get into it. He’s singing louder, higher, and Keith shuffles further down the bench. He risks the chance of getting spotted but whatever, the Shiro-voice in his head can go screw itself.

He strains his ears, squinting and hovering over the edge of the bench. Is that—? He nearly falls off, fingers scrambling for grip on metal. No way, Lance is—he’s—

“Holy shit,” Keith wheezes. “Oh my god. Oh fuck, that’s—that’s fucking _Spanish._ ”

 _Yeah, it is,_ says Shiro-voice. _Astute observation._

“Shut up,” Keith hisses. “Just. Shut up, I don’t need this right now. He’s _singing in Spanish_ , I need to—why didn’t I hear it before. This is ridiculous. I need to go. I need to stab something, I’m—where’s my knife.”

The water shuts off.

Keith stops breathing.

“Hello?” Lance calls out into the deafening silence.

 _Oh shit,_ says Shiro-voice.

“Is anyone there?” says Lance, and he sounds somewhere between scared and angry. “I know you’re in here. Hunk, if that’s you, I am revoking best friend privileges until you bake me cookies.” Scuffing noises—Lance is moving around. He’s walking in Keith’s direction. “This isn’t cool, dude. You _know_ I’m still not over that exorcist movie we showed Coran and Allura last night. Stop sneaking around, man.”

 _And he made fun of_ me _for being scared,_ Keith thinks. He should not be thinking about that right now. What he _should_ be doing is formulating a plan of escape. Too bad his fucking brain cells are still hung up on Lance rolling his _r’s,_ what the _fuck_ , brain, _c’mon_. Lance is literally going to round the corner and see him, just freaking sitting here like a dumb duck. At least move to the back of the lockers again—ah, shit but Lance will hear him—but if he doesn’t move, Lance will _see_ him—

“If you’re a ghost,” Lance continues, and his voice is so close that Keith just kind of gives up. There’s nothing he can do. “If you’re a freaking ghost, you should know that I’ve watched, like, at least five episodes of Ghost Adventures, okay, and I am not fucking scared of you, you soulless, pasty-faced, dry-skinned crea— _Keith?!”_

Keith raises his head.

Lance stands before him, a blue towel clinging to his waist, blue slippers on his feet, completely drenched from head to toe, and clutching his shampoo bottle like a weapon.

“Hi?” says Keith.

 _“AHHHHHHHHHHH,”_ replies Lance, and he turns on his heel and sprints out the door.

There’s absolutely no good reason—and honestly, Keith’s done trying to defend himself now—but instead of letting the situation go, Keith immediately leaps to his feet and goes racing after Lance. Because, you know. Fuck it.

“Lance, wait!” he yells, “Wait, just—why are you running away?!”

“Why are you chasing me?!” Lance yells back.

“Because you ran!” Keith answers. “ _Why_ are _you_ running?!”

“I’m running because you’re chasing me!”

“That’s stupid, you started running first!”

“Yeah, well—you have no clothes on!”

“You’re not wearing any either!” Keith shouts, indignant.

Lance makes an incomprehensible screech. “ _That’s your fault!”_ He hurls the shampoo bottle over his shoulder at Keith with terrifying accuracy; Keith barely manages to dodge.

“How is it my fault?!” Keith yells. He’s gaining on Lance. Bare feet trumps shower slippers, apparently. “Is this about the singing?! Hey! Hey! Is this because I heard you sing?!”

“Shut up!” Lance shrieks. That’s pretty much an answer itself. “Shut up shut up shut up!!!!”

“Because you sounded really fucking cool!” Keith thinks it’s important that Lance knows.

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!” Lance wails. Maybe he didn’t hear Keith.

“No, I said you sounded—”

“NO.”

“—really cool—”

“NO!!!”

They go hurtling around the corner, crashing into the walls and bouncing off, still running. Up ahead, a door slides open and Shiro steps out, holding a tablet and a cup of steaming liquid.

Lance starts waving his arms. “SHIRO! SHIRO HELP! SHIRO, YOUR BROTHER IS NAKED AND CHASING ME!! SHIRO!!!”

Shiro looks up, just as Keith snaps. “Lance, will you _PLEASE_ STOP RUNNING, I’M NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING TO YOU.”

Without a word, Shiro takes one step back and lets the door slide shut in their face.

Lance has no choice but to run by it. “WHAT THE _FUCK_ SHIRO WHAT KIND OF LEADER—”

At that moment, Lance’s left foot lands awkwardly on the floor and he trips, just a slight stumble.

It’s enough for Keith.

He jumps and tackles Lance to the floor. Lance yelps and flails, and he fucking elbows Keith in the face like, fifteen hundred times, what the _hell_. The two of them roll over each other until they come to a stop in the middle of intersecting hallways, landing on their backs side by side. Their chests heave with every breath they take.

Keith can feel dirt under his back, and it’s gross. Lance is probably going to have to take another shower.

“Okay seriously,” Keith says, “is this about the singing?”

“Oh my _god,”_ Lance groans. “Oh my—”

“Why are you like this? What’s wrong? You’re being—”

Lance groans louder, throwing an arm over his face. “I can’t believe you were just _hiding_ —you _heard_ me, god, this is so embarrassing—”

 _“Dude.”_ Keith rises onto his elbows, looking over at Lance. “You sing good, okay. Stop fucking worrying. You have a nice voice, asshole.”

Lance doesn’t reply for a beat. When he does, it’s muffled under the arm over his face. “Only you would give someone a compliment and insult them in the same breath, Mullet.”

Keith opens his mouth, affronted, but stops dead at the sight of a blush settling soft over Lance’s cheeks, half-hidden under his arm. His skin is still damp from the shower, and little droplets roll down his arms and legs, collecting on the floor around him.

Keith looks away to stare up at the high ceiling, fervently denying the matching flush rising up his neck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What the shit, how long have you guys been lying here?” Pidge asks.

**Author's Note:**

> "you have a nice voice, asshole" good one, keith, that's exactly how you cover up the gay
> 
> your kudos and comments light up my life!!!!
> 
> [my tumblr, send me a message!!](http://hiuythn.tumblr.com/)


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